RP Stories/Sairus' Vision
Darkness. Pulsing, shifting, black on black. No sight, just the sense of change. Gradually, a pinprick of blue-grey light arises. As the light glows, the darkness begins to take form. Shifting grains of black sand, flowing like water in the wind. All around, as far as the light would show, the dance of the sand had no pattern to its chaos. Slowly, the sand fell away from the light, until suddenly lines of fiery blue light burst forth, tracing across the ground before rising to form a familiar, but unrecognized shape. With as little warning as it appeared, in less than a second the flaming blue lines were gone, but a second pinprick of light had arisen several meters from the first, to Sairus' right, and together the illumination grew stronger. The second light shone between the motes of ash, dancing above the sand. Seeing the ash, Sairus realizes the sand is not black after all, but many colours, each grain a jewel. The dust obscures all, making them look as one. It lends them unity where none exist, but ever its surface roils. Sairus is ready this time, as the sand finishes shifting from the second light, and watches as the light pulses, fiery lines tracing a shape he now recognizes. The blooming of a Briarheart - and both lights show this image at the same time, although their shape is different, organic. He must watch again. Soon, a third light emerges, again several meters from the first two. As the light rises yet again, new details about this place begin to emerge. Wild shapes, moving in the darkness. Unable to yet be seen, the writhing form surrounds this place, out of sight and out of reach... for now. A sense of fear begins to grow in Sairus, but he knows he must keep his focus. Watching carefully, with his gaze set on the light and the picture of a Briarheart clear in his mind, the blooming seems to happen slower, last longer before the three fade. Yet still, it slips away, the fiery lines disappearing in the air leaving the seed of light to grow and pulse anew. The fourth light pushes the darkness further back, yet still the shapes that surround this place remain out of sight. No, that seems wrong... each light has shown something new... Sairus turns around, looking for what has been revealed, but cannot see it. As he looks, he realizes that the seed of light is not blooming. Slowly, realization dawns - until he can see what he is being shown, the flower will not bloom. With greater determination, Sairus stares at the things around him, and at the edge of the light, until finally he sees. He is standing in a circle of sand, carpeted in ash. The sand is ringed by grass, just as high as the floating motes, this is why he did not see it at first, but once he realizes they do not move in the same way, he recognizes what he sees. The grass in the circle has been scorched away, leaving a film of ash to mask the sight of the jewel like sand from watching eyes. Triumphant, Sairus draws his gaze back to the pinpricks that now surround him in a square, just in time to see the flaming blooms emerge and fade away. Sairus watches, waiting for a new light, but it does not appear. Warily, he gazes at the writhing mass in the shadows. It is only now, as he seeks the comforting touch of his sword hilt, that he realizes he is naked. He holds up a hand, and realizes he can see through it - even as he knows the shape and position of his body, even as he feels he can see himself standing there, there is no visual evidence to support that knowledge. Time passes. Sairus has no idea how long. Eventually he realizes the scene has changed since he examined himself, some order has emerged in the floating of the ash motes. A circle has formed, following the points of light, and the ashes seem to move both clockwise and counter at once. Within the circle, the ash seems almost to have changed colour, although it remains black as when the vision first began, Sairus is certain. Finally, the fifth light arrives. In the new light, Sairus finally sees himself. He is an empty shade, a vessel waiting to be filled. Or perhaps... no, he is a vessel that was once filled, but has been emptied, and he needs to be filled anew. Even as the realization hits him, the new light leads the bloom as its four companions follow, an instant in time. The sixth light appears, opposite the fifth in the emerging circle. And in the wake of its light, Sairus finally sees. He sees past the ash, past the grass, and into the darkness. He sees the vines of the Briar, ripping and rending as they grow stronger. Bushes uprooted, the bark and branches stripped from trees until the stumps themselves are torn away. Sairus cannot focus - no matter where he looks new growth seems to appear to be ripped apart by the briar. It is maddening, and a ringing pain strikes Sairus' mind. Collapsing to the ground and clutching his head, Sairus tries to comprehend. He recognizes the plants, but not as plants. There is more to this. Trying to stay calm, but drawing his breath in short rapid bursts, and feeling the sting of tears at the corner of his eyes, Sairus forces himself to watch. Each new plant he spots, Sairus feels a pang of recognition. Slowly, realization dawns. The plants are his memories, his sense of self. The deeper and stronger the growth, the greater the importance he places on it. But no matter how hard he tries, before he can truly recognize the memory, the briar has torn it away from him, and replaced it with itself, ready to tear anew. Numbed, his face buried in his hands, Sairus feels a warmth around him. Opening his eyes he gazes, and sees the blooms of the briarhearts, struggling not to fade. As each one withers, a tendril of flame lashes from its neighbours and ignites it anew, like the sparks of a fire. But no, there are two remaining spaces in the circle, and soon the last blossom withers and fades. Fear rides upon Sairus' heart, seated deep in his chest. Fear at what this new light will show him. Patiently, he waits, wondering which of the two spaces will fill first. Eventually, the space to his current left arises as the new light. Resigned, Sairus gazes out into the darkness, waiting to see what he will. But there is nothing. Not a sight, no matter how hard he looks. Just the agonizing pain as he is forced to watch his memories ripped away. The pain washes over Sairus, and he questions. Without his memories, how can he still be Sairus? Without a past, who will he be? No, he remains himself, he is certain of that. As his certainty grows, so too does his confusion. Finally he forces himself to look - truly look - at the scene around him. To drink in the pain, and make his peace with it. It is now, as he watches the memories being ripped from his mind, that he focuses on the briar vines for the first time. And as he focuses, he remembers. He remembers all the memories he thought were being stolen, but no, they were not stolen. They were strengthened and returned, and he is able to see his past in full. But it is no longer just his past, it is the path that has lead him to the service of the Oathmother, the path that has lead him to the Great Wolf. Finally, the seventh flower blooms. Sparks. Withering Briarhearts. Dancing blue flames. The motes of Ash, being forced from the path of the flames. The flowers cannot sustain themselves, but they are trying as hard as they can. The eighth light emerges, before the flowers fade, but Sairus must understand before it can bloom, he knows this. Within his spirit he realizes, unless it blooms soon it will never bloom at all. Desperately, Sairus looks around, trying to find what the light has revealed, but he can see nothing. He flicks his gaze back to the circle, sees the flowers are still blooming, although time is running out. With nowhere else to turn, he lifts his eyes to roar at the sky in frustration, and that's when he sees her. The silvery light of the Oathmother, brighter than he has ever known. The blue is washed from the world in his eyes, and all is mercurial silver. The flowers forgotten, a rushing sense of pride blooms in his chest. He tries to hold it back, but it is not his nature to resist this. Finally, he does what he never does, and howls. But it is not air that rushes from his lungs, even as it knocks away the ashes, and pushes back the sand. It is not sound that pours across his lips and fills the air. It is flames, the deep blue of the ancestors. Sairus has never seen it’s like before, and is enthralled even as it rushes from him and is drawn away, into the sky, encircling the moon. He can feel the strength leaving him, as he pours it into the Oathmother, protecting her, but it is more than that... he can feel it rushing into him as well. Unable and unwilling to take his focus away from the Oathmother, he none the less sees what is happening around him. The flames are rushing into the thorns of the briar - or perhaps rushing from - and pushing the sand away. What lies beneath he sees but cannot comprehend, and yet the circle of lights is awash in the flames, and all eight points are lit. The sand blows away, and the blooms are shown to be just the tips of a great crown. A crown of thorns. With a rush, the light snaps away from this world, and all is darkness. And Sairus is falling, into the sky.